


A Tree for the Ponds

by impossiblynikki



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Tree, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:49:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2841905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblynikki/pseuds/impossiblynikki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy and Rory head to the tree farm to get their first Christmas tree. Both spats and laughter ensue before they get an unexpected visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tree for the Ponds

“RORY!” Amy bellows to her husband.

 

“What?” he calls back, rushing down the stairs, “Are you alright?”

 

“Of course,” she says, “I want to go pick out our tree.”

 

“Amy, it’s December 1st, we’ll have plenty of ti-”

 

“I want to go pick out or tree,” she repeats, “Today.”

 

“Fine,” Rory groans, his wife getting the better of him once again.

 

Amy smiles and runs to pick out her favourite teal coat, the very same one she wore when she met Vincent Van Gogh. Little does Rory know the yellow paint stains on the cuffs are from a bona fide masterpiece.

 

Amy and Rory hop into Amy’s car, a small blue Honda, as he didn’t want to scratch or ruin his own. That car is his pride and joy, and he’d hardly want to mess it up. He’d never own one again. Or at least until he finishes medical school, as money’s a little bit tight.

 

“I want to find the perfect tree,” Amy says, clapping her hands together, “It’s our first real Christmas together off the T.A.R.D.I.S…. Everything has to be absolutely perfect. I’m not doing what we did last year.”

 

“No Charlie Brown trees because you feel bad for them,” she warns him, taking his hand.

 

“Trees are trees, Amy,” he protests, “Ugly trees need love too.”

 

“Isn’t that noble,” she says, “But not for us.”

 

She skips away, ahead of him, down the row of trees. “What about this one?” Rory points out a tall Fraser Fir.

 

“Not enough branches,” she wrinkles her nose, they move on.

 

“This one?” he asks a few minutes later.

 

“Too fat,” Amy says, “Don’t they have any normal trees?”

 

“These are all great trees, Amy,” Rory sighs, “Stop being so picky.”

 

“Aha!” she gasps as they reach the end of the row, “This is it, this is the one.”

 

“Where’s the cutty thing?” she asks, holding out her hand, sawing in the air, not looking back.

 

“You mean the saw?” he asks.

 

“Yeah, thanks!” she says, grabbing it from him and setting to work.

 

“A-amy, let me!” he says.

 

“Oh please,” she saws, “You and I both know I’ve got the stronger arms.”

 

A few minutes later the tree’s cut and the salesman ties it up for them, helping them place it on top of their impossibly small car. “Thank you!” Rory calls as the man walks away.

 

“One, two, three!” Amy says as they struggle through their front door, each with an end of the tree.

 

They waddle into their living room and place the tree in the stand. They stand back to admire their tree a second before decorating. “I told you it was the perfect tree,” Amy says, putting her head on his shoulder.

 

The two bicker for a few minutes as they attempt to untangle the lights. One incredibly long after-fight silence later, the lights are strung and working. Amy works at placing the garland while Rory gets the box of ornaments in the garage.

 

One by one they place the baubles on the tree, laughing, listening to their favourite Christmas music. They had gotten T.A.R.D.I.S. blue baubles the year past and were incredibly excited to use them.

 

They stand back, a second time, admiring their work. “Where’s the topper?” Rory asks, fishing in the box, “The Angel that goes on the top.”

 

“About that,” Amy says, “Kind of freaks me out.”

 

“You know,” she imitates a weeping angel.

 

“Oh, OH! Oh no!” he agrees, “We’ll definitely use the star.”

 

* * *

 

Twenty-five days later on Christmas day Amy and Rory sit by the fire, relaxing before they cook Christmas dinner. Then comes a knock at the door.

 

“Argh! If that is more carol singers, I have a water pistol!” Amy raves, making her way to the door, “You don’t want to be all wet on a night like this.”

 

She opens the door and is surprised to find The Doctor, alive, after two years of not seeing him. “Not absolutely sure how long” he says.

 

“Two years?”

 

She squirts him several times, angrily, her Scottishness getting the better of her.

 

“Okay. Fair point,” he says.

 

“So, you’re not dead,” she says flatly.

 

“And a happy New Year!” he exclaims.

 

“River told us,” Amy says, maintaining her icy demeanor.

 

“Well, of course she did,” The Doctor says.

“She’s a good girl,” Amy says, holding her head up high in the air, “Well? I’m not going to hug first.”

 

“Nor am I.”

 

They stare at eachother for a few moment, neither of them budging, before breaking out into smiles and hugging eachother.

 

“Mister Pond!” Amy calls, “Guess who’s coming for dinner?”

 

“Whoa. Not dead, then,” Rory says, coming to the front door.

 

“We’ve done that,” Amy says.

 

“Oh.”

 

“We’re about to have Christmas dinner,” Amy says, “Joining us?”

 

“If it’s no trouble,” The Doctor says.

 

“There’s a place set for you,” Rory says.

 

“But you didn’t know I was coming. Why would you set me a place?” The Doctor asks.

 

“Oh, because we always do. It’s Christmas, you moron,” Amy says.

 

“Come on.”

 

They lead the Doctor inside, into the living room, elated that he’s not dead after all. “Glad you didn’t use the angel,” The Doctor says, “Yeesh!”

 

The Ponds and The Doctor share stories and laughs, hardships and memories. All, at last, is well.


End file.
